Number My Days
by CrimsonFlowerz
Summary: Modern!AU; Merlin has lost the love of his life, so he turns to his only escape: drugs. He gets caught and is sentenced to a rehab center- where he will live and receive treatment. There, Merlin meets a doctor-in-training named Mordred with an equally dark past who understands his pain. Can Mordred free him from his grief? Merdred/rating may change/warning&pairings inside
1. Introduction: The Fall

Number My Days

Summary: Modern!AU; Merlin has lost everything, including the love of his life. He has turned to his only escape: drugs. Of course, if things couldn't get worse, he gets caught. With no one to bail him out, he must plead unwell for himself, and the jury condemns him to the rehab center- where he will live and receive treatment. There, Merlin meets a doctor-in-training named Mordred with an equally dark past who understands him. Can Mordred free him from his grief?

Warning: Drug Abuse; Sexual Themes; Sensitive Subjects

Pairings: Merlin/Mordred (Merlin/Arthur; Lancelot/Gwen; Mordred/Morgana)

It was that moment when the ice cracks beneath your feet. You knew it was a dumb idea in the beginning, but all you could think about was how cool it would be. And then before you know it, the first piece falls through and it's taking you with it. Your foot is the first to touch the icy chill of the water- it sends a signal up to your brain to steer clear of the water, but it's too late for that now. All you can do is hold your breath and hope to god you remember how to swim. You're wearing fifty layers of coat and you know, no matter how expensive they are, you need to drop them or you'll drown.

So let's say you do survive. You don't drown. Some firefighters, off duty, happen to hear your screams. Your partner is dead. Your partner isn't coming out of that water, and while your shivering to the bone, you'd throw yourself back in that water just to trade places with them. You'd literally do anything to have them back… but life is cruel and they are gone.

You're rushed to the hospital, barely clinging to life; a chunk of ice had cut into your calf and you are bleeding badly- losing a lot of blood. They fix you up, even though you really just wanted them to leave you to die. Why couldn't you have drowned in that lake?

When you wake up, you reach over to the empty bed next to you. There are roses there, giving you pity. You crush the blossoms in your hand, thinking about how much he hated roses. You throw the dead stems off the bed and heave yourself onto it. It's cold, because there wasn't anyone in it to begin with. It reminds you of him; probably sunk to the bottom of that lake by now. You think about how he never knew how to swim. He used to joke about it.

What you would give for those moments once more.

You recover in three weeks. You don't go to his funeral. You go to his grave with a knife; prepared to die. When you hold the blade out to that vein in your arm, you can't seem to cut. You are weak, and this will hurt. Not more than losing him, nothing hurts more than that. You throw the knife to the ground and fall to your knees. When will this nightmare stop? You cry yourself to sleep lying on his grave.

"Merlin, is that you?" a frantic Guinevere says as she spots Merlin lying on the ground, curled up near a gravestone. She checks his pulse first, because it was her first instinct as a nurse, and finds it alright. She shakes his shoulder in an attempt to wake him. He wakes slowly, as if he doesn't want to wake up.

"Leave me alone…" he murmurs and then sneezes, feeling the cold from last night settle in on him. He shivers. Gwen shakes her head in disapproval.

"Merlin, get up," she says, and it's not a suggestion. "You've caught a cold. Come here…"

Merlin lets her fret over him. He forces his legs to work when she drags him to his feet and pulls him along as she leads him to her house. Merlin doesn't notice anything, not the rising sun, not the neighbors walking their dogs… in fact, he barely recognizes Gwen's soft hand wrapped around his wrist. He only wishes it was Arthur's hand. He only wishes he could see Arthur. But the universe had taken him, and it wasn't going to give him back. Merlin felt little more than cheated. He felt undeserved of this pain. He couldn't help but dwell in the past- because the present was too harsh… too cold. Its icy fingers poised to ensnare his heart at any moment. He prayed for a heart attack, for a release, but none came. He gave a soft cry when Gwen tugged a little too hard.

"Merlin," she cooed, stopping them and running her thumb over his wrist. She inspected the body part in question, only to find a cluster of infected cuts on the underside of his wrist. Luckily, they had all missed any important veins- but she suspected that was on purpose.

"Merlin!" she shouted angrily, "what's the matter with you? Get a hold of yourself!" She shoved him in front of her and up to her house. Merlin made no move to object, he couldn't even speak; he felt the tears beginning to sting his eyes- the force of the emotion constricting his chest.

"Gwen," he breathed as the shorter girl pulled him into her house. She took him immediately to her livingroom, which consisted of a fireplace, a single, long, plush couch and two longue chairs. The rest of the room was decorated appropriately considering Gwen is still in college; she hoped to become a doctor.

She pushed him down on the couch and he complied, instantly curling up in a ball on the soft cushions. She then lit the fireplace and made her way to her kitchen.

"I'm going to prepare you some soup, alright?" She called to Merlin. "You have to go home later, though. I can't keep you here."

Merlin nodded to himself and stared into the fire. He thought about setting himself on fire… while he was in the hospital. It would be painful, but he felt he needed the pain. He wanted to be better- he wanted to redeem himself. If he went through so much pain… he shook his head. What good would killing himself do? A voice in the back of his head told him _a lot_. The tears streamed down his face now, pooling where his head met the sofa. Gwen called to him again, but he didn't hear her. In front of him, he rewatched memories of Arthur.

Like that time they had a picnic in the park after it rained because they knew no one would be there. Or that time they camped in the woods and Merlin almost pissed himself because he was scared by a baby squirrel. He thought about when Arthur took him fishing by his families lake house; Merlin hadn't caught much more than a tadpole, but he and Arthur had fun all the same. Later they went crabbing and Merlin only caught one because he's stepped on it.

They were happy, and the world was jealous, so it had to ruin them.

Gwen returned soon with a bowlful of chicken noodle soup and a full box of tissues. Merlin didn't move from his position. He watched the steam rise from the soup slowly and he let out a breath.

"If you don't eat you won't get better," Gwen said, pushing a loose curl from her face. Her eyes locked onto him, but he couldn't meet her gaze.

"Maybe I don't want to get better," he whispered pathetically. Gwen smacked him on the back of the head. He shouted in surprise.

"Don't you talk like that!" she said, her voice raised like that of a worried mother. "Now eat your soup, it'll be cold before long."

Merlin forced himself to sit up after she'd returned to the kitchen to clean up. He looked into the soup, and couldn't help but remember when he'd taken care of Arthur when he was sick. Arthur preferred tomato soup though… Merlin ate the soup anyways, and he didn't think of Arthur again until much later that night; after he's wished sweet Guinevere goodnight.

He was walking down the street when a man stepped in front of him; a man in a black trench coat.

"You look miserable," the man said; his voice deep and gravely. Merlin licked his lips nervously and shifted to one side.

"If you think so…" Merlin managed to let out. He looked for an escape route.

"Like ya lost somethin' close to ya," he continued, eyeing Merlin closely, "name's Antony."

"Well, Antony, it's none of your business what I've lost," Merlin snapped, his patience wearing thin. His attention was fully on the man now, irritated at his behavior. His mind wandered back to Arthur, but it only enraged him further. Arthur would have just walked away, but Merlin didn't have the strength to defend himself. It reminded him of how he relied on Arthur. Arthur was his sword and shield; Arthur was his will and now… now it is gone.

"I got somethin' to ease the pain, ya? Free a' charge, just for you…" the man said cautiously and pulled out a syringe. Merlin recoiled from the needle, imagining the object pierce his skin. It reminded him of when he was a child, the first time he'd given blood… it was unpleasant, and it made him nauseous. This wasn't the same thing but… he feared the result would be far worse. He stepped away from the man.

"I swear it doesn't hurt no more after this 'un," the man said convincingly. "You just have to close your eyes… think of that person…" he gradually trailed off and Merlin let him lull him into a sense of calm. The man grabbed his arm and Merlin yelped, but he didn't pull away. He saw the light from a street lamp reflect off the silver needle. It looked new, but looks could be deceiving. He sucked in a breath as the needle pierced the skin in his arm. The man seemed to be an expert, for it only hurt for a moment, and then the pain was replaced by a cool sensation pulsing through him. He tried to think of Arthur, what he would say right now. He'd say "Merlin you're a fool!" but Merlin didn't care. Arthur wasn't the one stuck in constant agony. Arthur didn't have to live without his love.

Arthur was dead, and as the drug claimed Merlin, all he could think of was how little anything mattered.


	2. The Angel

Weeks went by and soon Guinevere was amerced in her study. She had recently volunteered as a nurse at a rehab center and it was taking up all her time. She met many people there- so it was great experience. Her teachers were proud of her, he classmates looked up to her, and she was excited to be excelling so quickly in her field. The only thing the matter, one thing on her mind every minute- scratching the back of her conscious like an annoying tag… Merlin.

She hadn't seen him at all since he left after she found him in the graveyard. It kept her worrying… Merlin could be a little reckless and emotional at times. She prayed he hadn't harmed himself yet. She knew what it was like to lose a loved one… maybe not a lover, but other people that were important to her. Maybe he found someone else to take care of him. She didn't think he'd gotten over it already, but it was a possibility that he found someone else with more free time to bunk with.

She dreaded him staying at his home, alone in the dark- for horrid things lurk behind the shadows. Merlin had always been afraid of the night, because of what it brang. 'Emptiness,' he used to say, 'the night is emptiness.'

Little did she know, he was somewhere far worse than huddled up in a dark corner.

* * *

A few hours away from Guinevere's house is an old abandoned building. Merlin had been taken there his first night. The man in the trench coat had led him to this hell, this prison. Of course, it didn't feel that way; because with each and every day he spent in that wrecked home, he felt Arthur's presence in him grow weaker, his voice softer… until it was just a whisper in the back of his mind. The drugs clouded his mind, and all he had to do was keep it a secret. There were about 20 or so people his age who hung around, Merlin probably the most strung out. The other day, a guy he knew for two hours over dosed. Merlin just crept away from the body, but other than that, he couldn't have cared less.

The police never came around in that short month. He knew what he was doing was wrong, that he should be working… getting over it the right way. It was a lost cause, though, because the pain was just too great to avoid. With the drugs, there was no pain at all.

He never looked in a mirror, but he assumed he looked terrible. He felt like he was drifting on a cloud, but he probably looked like shit. Another guy had given him a ripped, plaid shirt to wear when his own became nothing but tatters. His pants had holes in the knees. He was barefoot most of the time. He was lucky it wasn't winter anymore, but it wouldn't have mattered to him even if it were. He may not have been in pain, but he definitely still didn't care about what happened to him.

"How do you feel?" A man said as he approached Merlin. He was fairly recent here, only a week in. He claimed his brother, Percival, died in his arms from a random shooting. His name was Lancelot. He was handsome enough, but the drugs were already taking effect on his appearance. His skin was becoming pastier, his eyes red… he looked like he definitely didn't take care of himself… and that was the whole aspect. The drugs helped you forget… they helped you move on. They might make you codependent in the process, but that didn't matter, so long as you were looking for an escape. The drugs gave you an escape, a release. That's all you needed.

Merlin rolled his eyes up to meet Lancelot's gaze from his seat against a pillar. He'd been fiddling with some paper that had been thrown across the ground a while ago. Old newspaper, used note books, unwanted diaries… they were all here now. He's made about 16 paper stars when Lancelot had interrupted him.

"I feel nothing," Merlin responded, his own voice sounding hoarse. He winced at the sound, and resorted to not speaking again.

"At least I can't hear him anymore…" Lancelot said softly. Oh yeah, Merlin remembers when Lancelot first came in. He's been sobbing; something about his dying words, but he could remember. That was another side effect of the drugs. They made you forget, but most people didn't want to remember. You forget yourself, who you are, where you are… you forget who cares about you and who might be searching for you; but it doesn't matter anymore. You learn to accept the fact that you'll likely not remember again. Merlin still saw his face though; the fear in his eyes, the terror in his voice. Merlin could still see the ice cracking every night. He fell into that water every night, and he was the only one to come out every morning. It was a rock in the pit of his stomach.

"You're thin…" Merlin said in a whisper, so he didn't really have to hear his own voice. He pocked at Lancelot's sides and where there used to be a healthy amount of muscle and fat, there was next to nothing. Of course, it was better than Merlin, the raven-haired boy was nothing but skin and bones now. He was sure he hadn't eaten a full meal since he arrived a month ago. It wasn't something you did… eat. You lived on the street pumping your system full of drugs… food was the last thing on your mind.

"You're worse…" Lancelot commented. He handed Merlin half of the sandwich he'd brought with him. Merlin refused it at first, but then accepted after the other man practically forced him to take it. Merlin wasn't much of a fighter, he didn't care for it. He always wanted peace, ever since he was a little boy. He was never violent… he got bullied a lot in school for it.

He picked at the sandwich half, breaking off bits and placing them on his tongue until it was practically dissolved. He wasn't hungry, because being hungry reminded him of Arthur. Arthur was a terrible cook, but it was alright because Merlin had always had a passion to cook. He prepared all their meals in Arthur's small, cramped kitchen. One time, Merlin had been making pancakes, and when he went to flip on, Arthur had tickled his sides. Merlin threw the pancake above their heads and it landed on Arthur's shoulder. They laughed for at least 20 minutes.

Lancelot placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder. They looked at each other, their gazes locked.

Nothing needed to be said, since every word had been announced in the silent exchange of eye contact. Merlin felt his eyes tear up and he buried his head in Lancelot's shoulder and cried.

* * *

The next day, he walked into the abandoned home only to realize the cops were there with all his other company in cuffs. He must not have seen the cop cars… Merlin tried to run, but he his heart pounded painfully in his chest and the police officers didn't have to go far to tackle him down. They cuffed him and threw every person in the back seat of their cars, which had actually been hidden around the corner. Merlin sat, squished into the backseat with Lancelot at his side and another house-mate on the far end. Lancelot was staring into his hands. He didn't speak the entire time. Merlin watched out the window before his headache became unbearable and he shut his eyes tightly. He ran his fingers down the window, clouded by their hot breath.

'_I'm sorry…_' he thought, '_Arthur…_'

At the jail, they were stripped of their clothing, dressed in black and white, and inked and tagged. The head of the jail, a man named Uther; lined them up against a wall.

"You have all been found guilty of drug use. Since you have committed no further crime than this one and none of you put up much of a fight, we are giving you an easy sentence of 6 years in Rehabilitation Prison," the older, but fierce Prison instructor told the lined up men. He fixed them each with a stern gaze. "Monday through Saturday there will be rehab activities and every Sunday you will work in the morning from 8am to Noon. The rest of Sunday's are social free time within the Rehab walls. Visitors will also be allowed at this time and this time only. Do you understand?"

There was an extended silence, and then Uther shouted: "_I asked you; do you understand_?"

"Sir yes sir!" The men shouted, including Merlin. Many of the men were already deteriorating from the lack of drugs in their system when the Prison Guards hauled them off down long walls lined with dark, hardwood doors. The wallpaper was a creamy, marbled pattern with dark wood liners. There hadn't been a single window since the front desk area.

Merlin was thrown in a room with two beds. He was soon joined by Lancelot, who simply stumbled to his bed and collapsed onto it. Merlin got onto his knees, crawled to the right hand corner less than a foot from the door, and curled up into a ball. His stomach was churning… and although he would love to act as if he didn't care… he simply could not. He shook softly, like a quivering leaf in the wind. The ground was a soft carpet and the wall was lukewarm, but his whole world had just been turned on its side. They were going to detox him and he would soon be seeing those hands reaching out, hear the roar of water, and feel the chill of ice encase his body. Pain threatened to consume him; he could feel his heart breaking again, although it didn't take much to rip the brittle strands of thread that the drug had used to sew him back together.

"Merlin," Lancelot's voice called softly after what he assumed was a half an hour. "Merlin, are you alright?"

Merlin recognized for the first time that his eyes had been wide open for a while now. When he blinked, his eyes felt dry and irritated. He rubbed them aggregately.

"Y-yeah," he croaked, his throat dry. He looked to their shared nightstand to see two water bottles. "Toss me a water…"

Lancelot looked towards the night stand and grabbed a water bottle. He tossed it to Merlin and the other clumsily caught it. He had enough strength to rip the cap off and take a long drink of the water. It was half empty when he was finished. He gasped in a few ragged breaths.

"How you holding up?" Lancelot asked him, almost caringly. Merlin nodded, his head low, embarrassed to find someone cared about him. He felt hot shame run down his spine. He hadn't meant to worry anyone. He didn't deserve Lancelot's kindness. Lancelot deserved his.

"It doesn't matter how I am- how are you?" Merlin asked, his voice shaking even as he speaks. Lancelot's mouth opens, but before he can say anything more, the lock on the door jingles. They both looked at the three people entering. One was Uther, the second was Guinevere, who looked horrified when she saw Merlin, and the third was a boy Merlin could not recognize.

"During your time here, you will each be assigned a volunteer nurse, or doctor in training. They are here to help you through your sentence. There will also be certified doctors you will be required to visit, but the majority of your time will be spent with these nurses."

Merlin kept his eyes away from Gwen, too burdened with shame to meet her eyes. Instead, he kept his gaze locked on the other nurse's sneakers. They were all white with a black, swirly-shape, triangle symbol on the side. They had specks of grass stain near the heel and the laces were already becoming yellow… but the rest of the shoe looked regularly kept. His gaze traveled up the height of the person to their face. He had an almost childish face. He wasn't plump, but rather just right… healthy, but not lanky. His eyes were watery blue and his hair fell in tousled cherry black curls right above his eyes and down the back of his neck. His skin was pasty white, but it had a sort of glow to it, making him almost angelic. To put it simply, he was perfect. Merlin didn't like perfect people. Merlin loathed perfect people.

"This is Guinevere. She will be taking care of Lancelot."

Uther's voice was but a whisper in the back of his head. Merlin and Mordred's eyes were locked in a sort of challenging stare; as if they were daring each other to breathe, to speak.

"And this is Mordred," Uther said after Gwen introduced herself to Lancelot. "He will be taking care of Merlin."

Merlin swallowed thickly as he processed that sentence. He would… be taking care of Merlin. As that information settled in his stomach, he did the only thing he knew how to do at the time.

He threw up; _right on Mordred's shoes._

_((Authors note: This actually might get nasty. Please inform me if you think I should change the rating.))_


	3. The Addict

Chapter II: The Addict

Mordred hadn't been angry. Surprise. Merlin had not been trying to throw up on his shoes, so they couldn't exactly accuse him of rebellion. Merlin could barely lift a finger let alone rebel. Mordred saw that, saw his weakness; and although Merlin was still opposed to the perfect, angel boy, he was thankful for that.

The next day was Wednesday, of course, and early that morning Lancelot had been lugged off by Guinevere to go do some exorcises. Merlin knew that Lancelot had not been so hooked on the drugs, and for him, it was merely a few weeks of sweating, a few weeks of serious sickness… The tricky part was the mental help everyone at this institution needed.

Merlin wasn't about to follow through with helping himself. He knew he needed help, but when Mordred came in to take him to the activity, Merlin simply moaned, and tucked in on himself further. He hadn't moved from that corner. They cleaned up his mess and he had retired to the corner instantly.

"Merlin, we need to go," Mordred insisted. Merlin huffed in reply. "I swear I will carry you if you do not get up."

Merlin's heart quickened. He looked over at Mordred, but didn't move to get up. He wasn't sure if he was testing the young nurse, or maybe he was waiting for the memory of Arthur carrying him to their bed to poke up from under the haze. Maybe he was waiting for the pain.

"Alright, you leave me no choice," Mordred quirked his lips in a sly smile. He then hooked his arm under Merlin's knees and his other below his shoulders on his back, his hand gripping Merlin's upper arm.

"What do you think you're-" Merlin started, but Mordred had already picked him up and was carrying him out of the room and down the hall. Merlin was light as a feather, there was literally nothing left on him to weight him down. His clothing was probably heavier than he was.

Merlin buried his face in the crook of Mordred's neck, feeling embarrassed and weak. He was still tired, and Mordred's heat was lulling him into a sort of rest. Merlin faded in and out of consciousness until Mordred took him into a large bathroom and put him on a soft towel.

"What are we doing in here?" Merlin asked softly, his voice still sounding cracked and broken. He didn't like talking, but Mordred seemed to bring his voice out of him. He'd talked more in that few minutes than he had all week before the prison.

"I'm giving you a bath," Mordred responded with a soft smile. His clear eyes rested on Merlin as he waited for the tub to fill up. "Do you like bath salts?"

Merlin was appalled. He didn't want another man bathing him. He hadn't properly bathed in a month, and he was too weak to do it himself, but he did not want to subject himself to such humiliation. So Merlin protested by shaking his head.

"No," he whispered, not able to raise his voice at all. He didn't even sound angry or threatening. He sounded tired.

"I can tell you haven't bathed in weeks, Merlin, let me do this one thing," he pleaded with the older man. Merlin looked away, not wanting to give in, but also not wanting to look at Mordred's pleading expression. "I won't embarrass you, you have to trust me…"

"…fine," Merlin finally gave in. Mordred tested the water once more and nodded. Steam rose gently from the water's surface, and Merlin suddenly got a chilled feeling. He wondered how much better he'd feel once he took a bath. Maybe some of his doubt would just wash away… if only that were true. Mordred helped Merlin stand up and remove his shirt. Then his pants… and Merlin took his briefs off by himself, turned away from Mordred. He stepped into the water cautiously, and it felt nice, warm and concealing. He felt like he could just sit in there forever, completely content as the water moved against his body.

And then he thought about Arthur, the memory bursting from the fog like a wild animal from the underbrush. Arthur's face as he drowned. Merlin remembered his complete and utterly lonesome depression, his brief moments when he thought about drowning himself; those moments when he held that blade to his skin, but couldn't pull through. He jumped away from the water, slipped on the tile, and splayed across the floor in an uncomfortable manor. He'd managed to grab a towel that was hanging on the wall and pull it, and several others, down with him. He was a bundle of towels on the floor. He tried to pull away when he felt Mordred's touch on his arm, but Mordred had him. He collected Merlin against him and ran his fingers through Merlin's hair. Merlin let his tears fall, pretending he wasn't here right now. He wasn't naked on the ground and a nurse wasn't trying to comfort him.

But he was here, and here was now… and now would never change. Not ever.

* * *

When Mordred couldn't convince Merlin to calm down enough to get in the tub, he threw in the towel and resorted to sponging the frantic man down. Merlin became emotionless and silent under his touch. Each time the sponge washed away another smudge of dirt, and Merlin's own skin became clearer, he winced. It was a small action, but it didn't go unnoticed. Mordred washed his hair by using small cup-fuls of water and lots of soap. When he was finished, Merlin's hair was darker than he originally thought. It had flecks of blue where the white, fluorescent light hit him; his hair, even as it clung to his pallid skin, had layers, complexity.

"What are you staring at?" Merlin asked, and for the first time Mordred heard it: the wrecked, broken accent. As if he were trying to talk like someone he wasn't. Mordred brushed some hair from his face.

"You look so ill…" Mordred breathed the comment as if it were a thought. "You were only on drugs for a month… what happened to you?"

Merlin couldn't meet his eyes again, fearing to see pity, fearing to be looked down upon. He had thrown away his life, but he didn't deserve to be judged because of it. He would never kill to get this drug… he happened upon it like it was meant to happen. Maybe it _was_ meant to happen; maybe he was meant to get help all along…

"A lot more than you could ever imagine," Merlin put simply. Mordred continued to look at him for a while, until he realized Merlin was upset and looked away. It wasn't his place to stare or judge, although he had a story of his own, this was Merlin's recovery. Mordred, as a nurse, didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

"Would you be willing to tell me about it?" he asked softly. Merlin glanced up at him through lidded eyes, but then looked away. He shook his head a little.

"That's alright," Mordred said in response. "You don't have to tell me. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to do, alright?"

Merlin gave him a look, his eyes brightening a bit. He looked almost, hopeful. He still wore a saddened frown but, something about him.

"You have my word," Mordred promised.

* * *

It was later that Merlin and Mordred caught up with some other groups. A few prisoners were sitting in an awkwardly shaped oval-thing when the two men walked into the activity room.

"Good you have joined us. Mordred; Merlin," A greeter spoke. She was a slim, pretty woman with long, crimson red hair and a pair of black rimmed glasses. She wore all white, as if to show off her purity and innocence. As if to rub it off on her peers. Her smile was white, her lips, pink and smooth. She almost looked fake… even with the dusting of freckles over the bridge of her nose.

"Ann Melody," Mordred spoke cautiously. "Merlin is… not yet to his speaking phase, please don't force him. If he speaks continuously or acts out, call me right away."

Mordred gave Merlin a reassuring pat on the back and a shove towards the group before nodding at Ann and making his way out. Merlin looked longingly at Mordred's back as he left, silently wishing him to return and make him feel protected. He turned back to the awkward group of drug addicts and miss perfect Ann. He shuffled his feet.

"Please sit," she said softly and patted the chair next to her that happened to be empty. Merlin crept over to the chair and quickly sat down, his arms wrapping around his chest and arms; as if in an attempt to collapse into himself.

"Tell us your name," she pressed. Merlin looked at her quizzically and shook his head. He buried his face into his arms and didn't answer. He had a right not to speak. He did- well, he wanted to have that right. What happened to that right, in this prison? Are any of his rights valid? Ann popped his thought bubble with her sharp words.

"You cannot heal if you are unwilling to take part in the process," she said boldly. The other patients nodded in semi-agreement. They were all probably too tired to disagree.

"Merlin," he drawled, his voice strained by his feign accent. He sounded like a combination of British and American, like he couldn't decide. Both sounded fake, like he was hiding behind broken glass. Anyone could see it, but it was just too much at stake to unveil it.

"It's nice to meet you Merlin," Ann responded kindly. The others repeated the sentence begrudgingly. The group went around the odd shape again, and Merlin recorded all their names. Lancelot, whom he already knew, was sitting next to him, to his right. To his left was Gwaine, a handsome, sun-kissed man with long, dark brown hair that tickled his shoulders in length. Next to him sat Leon, also long-haired, but more like a dirty blonde. He had clear blue eyes that looked faded and silvery as if he were daydreaming at the moment. Both Leon and Gwaine had stubble that went with their rough appearance.

Next to day-dreamer was a man named Fenton. He had short-cropped black hair and bright green eyes and tan skin. He had a clean-shaven face aside from a small bit of hair on his chin. He was lanky-thin, like most of the patients, and he had a suspicious look, as if he were expecting any man here to take out a knife and stab him to death.

Next to Lancelot were twins named Samuel and Adam. Both had short, curly blonde hair and stormy grey eyes. The twins seemed to be both very tired, in fact, Samuel, the significantly more wirily of the two, had fallen asleep twice during introduction alone.

"We are going to go around in the circle once more, but this time, we will state our feelings towards drug use and then your feelings right at this moment," Ann said softly. She had an older voice, more stern. Although she had a thin, pretty, twenty-something face; her voice sounded older. Her voice sounded like she should be in her forties. Not the pitch, the strength, the wisdom in her words.

She stared with Gwaine,

"I think drug use is something I used to run away from my problems. It must not be a good thing, or else I wouldn't be here. Right now?" Gwaine paused and a smirk pulled at his lips. "I feel like I need a full week of sleep."

then Leon,

"I feel the same way Gwaine feels. I do not regret taking the drugs, though, since I would not be receiving help for my conditions otherwise," he smiled. "Right now I feel awfully like I could eat an entire cow." His stomach growled. Everyone gave a huff of laughter.

and Fenton;

"I feel like I could go for a smoke or a shoot up right now. I don't want to be here but… at least while I'm here I might as well be honest." He didn't say anything else, possibly hiding something. He had a past, Merlin could tell. Everyone in this room had a story to tell, even himself. He wished he didn't, but he did.

Next came Samuel and Adam, who spoke simultaneously.

"We believe we were wrong in our judgment. Mother always used to tell us we had to watch out for each other… too bad we went down the same path this time," Samuel cut off them and smiled at the floor.

"I feel like I want to be welcomed here… but I'm not yet acceptable, it seems." Adam said with a hint of dismay. "I only hope to be part of a family when we are done here."

Last before Merlin was Lancelot. He had a wary smile on his face.

"I think everyone here turned to the drug as a means of escape. We all had something happen to us…" Lancelot trailed off and looked at Merlin. Merlin looked away. "Maybe it's not something we'd prefer to share at this moment, but it was definitely something."

And finally, Merlin was up.

"Merlin?" Ann asked after he hadn't spoken for several beats of silence, "cat got your tongue?"

Merlin was overwhelmed with emotion then. His hands shook and his eyes burned from what he assumed where tears trying to break through.

"I feel nothing," he stated simply. "I feel nothing but pain and suffering; then and now."

Merlin sat out of the rest of the class, huddled together on his little chair. He didn't look at anyone, speak to anyone, and he certainly didn't explain himself. He didn't need to. He'd meant what he said and he'd said what he meant.

It was two hours exactly before Mordred returned for him. He was pulled aside by Ann and conversed to, probably about Merlin. Merlin simply stared in their general direction, not watching, but he was… in a way. He didn't want to be here, _drowning_. Why couldn't his life been the one that slipped away that night several weeks before they got caught? Why couldn't he have been killed or been man enough to take his own life? It was better than living without Arthur… wasn't it? Sometimes he wondered if there was anything left for him on this Earth. He thought of the people who cared about him, they would get over it… he hoped.

Mordred came over to him and hook his arm around Merlin's arm. He did not smile at Merlin, but he nodded in the direction of the door.

"Let's go, Merlin."


	4. Our Paths Were Meant to Cross

**Chapter III: Our Paths Were Meant to Cross**

Merlin was taken next to lunch. Mordred left him to a long table with various others at it, mostly people from his therapy circle. Merlin chose a seat next to Lancelot, and moved his chair as close as possible to the other's chair as he could get. Lancelot noticed his closeness and placed a cautious hand on his shoulder.

"Is something the matter, Merlin?" Lancelot asked; his tone soft and caring. Merlin laid his head on the table and let out a lengthy sigh.

"I believe my nurse is frustrated with me. I should not care so, but he is somehow making me care," Merlin huffed. "I claim witchcraft."

Lancelot laughed. It was airy and happy, and it made Merlin warm. He enjoyed making others smile.

"I believe there is something stronger than witchcraft going on here," Lancelot says slowly, almost wisely. "I believe the growing bond that comes with trust is something to be reckoned with."

"Trust?" Merlin asked. He was far from trusting the perfect angel-boy as of yet. He still didn't trust himself, let alone a nurse he just met.

"Trust," Lancelot replied. He seemed honest and that was all Merlin needed to stay calm. He believed Lancelot maybe had a point- Lancelot always had a point.

Merlin looked to the side when he heard plastic clink against the table. On his other side was Gwaine, smiling stupidly at the two men already sitting.

"Greetings peasants," Gwaine said with a grin. "How's it going down over here?"

Merlin rolled his eyes back over to Lancelot. His friend tilted his head to the side, as if confused.

"Hello, you're from the therapy group…" Lancelot said, although it was obvious. Gwaine's eyes locked with the other man's for a moment.

"Yes, I am…" Gwaine responded. "You are Lancelot, and this little fellow…" Gwaine ruffled Merlin's hair. Merlin flinched and made a noise of annoyance. "This is Merlin."

Merlin swatted Gwaine hands away that were trying to take permanent residence in his hair. Gwaine reminded him of a flea; no matter how many times you swat them away, they keep coming back.

"Get your hands off my head!" Merlin said, his voice coming out as a squeak. He covered his mouth and Gwaine and Lancelot went completely silent. After a moment, they broke into a fit of laughter, blabbering on about how cute Merlin was. They didn't use the word cute, of course, more like feminine; but it was all the same. Merlin blushed.

"Stop making fun of me…" Merlin muttered. Lancelot squeezed Merlin's shoulder.

"It's just some fun, friend. You must learn to let go sometimes," he said slowly. Gwaine became silent next to them. Lancelot stole a glance of Gwaine for a moment, but returned his attention to Merlin.

"We should get something to eat," Lancelot suggested. Merlin nodded and followed him up to get something warm to eat. Merlin didn't feel hungry. He brushed his fingers over his ribs covered by his shirt, and felt the bones sticking out. He should eat, he knows he should. He looks at Lancelot, who hands him a bowl of broth soup with dumplings and bits of chicken and vegetables in it along with a bottle of water. He stared at the soup, unmoving.

Sounds of loud talk came from behind him, getting closer. He moved to take a step forward, and someone's shoe caught his heel and he went down hard. Lancelot grabbed him under his arms and pulled him away as his soup splashed all over the cool tiles under their feet. Steam rose slowly from the floor.

"Such a waste," A dark haired man with snow white skin growled at the two. His sharp eyes went from the soup to Merlin in less than a second.

"And who are you?" Lancelot snapped back, seemingly defending Merlin. Merlin didn't move. He let Lancelot's hands stay on his shoulders.

"I am Agravaine," the man said lowly. "And do I have the pleasure of knowing your names?"

"…I am Lancelot," he responded. "This is Merlin," he motioned down to the younger man still in his grasp.

"What are you here for?" Agravaine asked, his voice still sounding rough and harsh.

"Some drug," Lancelot said softly. "Aren't we all here for that?"

"There's a difference between when a citizen says 'some drug' and when a criminal says 'some drug'."

Merlin caught the man's gaze for a moment, but then looked away. Agravaine was not the kind of man he wanted to deal with. It was bad enough he was here in the first place… he doesn't want to deal with a murderer breathing down his neck.

Without saying another word, Agravaine and his group got their food and walked to the other side of the cafeteria. Lancelot ruffled Merlin's hair and pulled him close.

"Let's get another bowl of soup…" Lancelot suggested. "And maybe not drop it this time."

* * *

Merlin spent lunch with Lancelot and Gwaine. Merlin learned that Lancelot had originally lied about his brother Percival's death. It was a shooting, but Percival had died at the hospital. Gwaine admitted that he had a lover, and they had also died in a shooting. Lancelot commented about it being a small world. Gwaine said nothing more.

After lunch, Mordred took Merlin downstairs to one of the main Doctors for a checkup. Merlin objected at first, but didn't put up much of a fight. On the way down though, he became feint and Mordred had to wrap an arm around his shoulders to keep him walking. Before they even got to the Doctor's office, Mordred was carrying the underweight man. He had fallen asleep.

"A little sleepy, are we?" the old man, presumably the Doctor, said with a curious tone.

"Gaius, I brought him down for a checkup- but he didn't seem capable of even making it down the steps," Mordred explained and set Merlin down on the examination table that was covered in sheets of protective paper. "He weighs nothing at all, I'm worried about him."

Gaius nodded in understanding and checked Merlin's pulse first. His pulse was steady and healthy. Next, he looked under Merlin's shirt at his stomach and chest. Merlin had no fat at all on him. Of course, some people would think that was a good thing, but every body needed a bit of fat to keep them healthy. In fact, Merlin was so starved that his muscles were deteriorating. Gaius took note of this and asked Mordred if Merlin ate today.

Mordred gave him a suspicious look.

"I don't know," Mordred said softly. "I remember he dropped his soup earlier when he ran into another patient. Lancelot took him to get another though… He and Lancelot seem pretty close. He really cares for Merlin."

Gaius nodded and checked various parts of Merlin's body for infection, sores, etcetera. Merlin stayed asleep the entire time until Gaius decided to check his eyes. He shined a light briefly in Merlin's eyes to check his pupil reaction. Merlin jumped and rolled to the side, causing him to fall off the table entirely. He groaned on the ground.

"Merlin!" Mordred gasped and went to get him. Gaius stopped him, though.

"Merlin, get up," Gaius demanded, his voice strong. Merlin gave a cry of hurt and curled up into a ball on the other side of the table.

"I cannot," he responded, sounding broken and weak. Mordred moved again to get him, but Gaius insisted he stay back. Merlin glanced over his shoulder when no one came to help him. He then uncurled and pushed his front up with his arms; but his arms were weak and he didn't stay up for long, instead, he just fell back down. Gaius let Mordred go, and the young nurse darted to Merlin's side and gathered the man in his arms. Merlin let his head lay on Mordred's shoulder. He felt unusually weak, his head was spinning.

"Everything hurts," he breathed. Mordred instantly looked up at Gaius for a professional opinion.

"He is suffering from malnutrition. He hasn't eaten properly in days, it's allowing his muscles to constrict and deteriorate," Gaius shook his head. "There is nothing I can do but prescribe him a painkiller- and those aren't allowed in here." Gaius paused briefly, watching how Mordred looked back down at Merlin, who looked to be in obvious pain.

"Take care of him, Mordred. You must make sure he eats every day, three times a day. He must get exercise; whether that's walking up steps or doing push-up, it doesn't matter which. He will get better if he finds the will in himself to do so."

Mordred nodded and stood up, picking up Merlin with him. He let Gaius give him instructions on what to do if Merlin is in severe pain: use heat to soothe the muscle strain, use ice to calm a stomach ache… Gaius also gave him a few extra soft pillows so Merlin may use them to sit up if he is too weak to. Mordred carried Merlin and the pillows back to Merlin's shared room. When he got there, Lancelot and Gwen were quietly conversing while sitting side by side on Lancelot's bed. Gwen was holding Lancelot's hands.

"Merlin?" Lancelot fretted as soon as he saw his friend. Merlin was still out cold and Mordred set the unconscious man down on his bed.

"He's fine, Lancelot. He's just very… very unwell." Mordred explained.

"He didn't eat his soup today…" Lancelot muttered to himself. "I tried to get him to eat it but… he said he had a stomach ache."

Mordred sighed at the realization and drew his fingers through Merlin's lop of dark hair. He had a lot of work to do.

**[[Author's note: This is shorter ehh sorry :( ]]**


End file.
